


he is the growl, i am the bite

by bpdcerberus



Series: im a little kid with a big death wish [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Backstory, Canon Typical Substance Abuse, Foreign Characters, M/M, anger issues, canon typical alcohol abuse, canon typical drug abuse, canon typical language, czech/black swan, dog metaphor, everyone in the pack is at least part slavic bc im slavic and i love these boys, headcanons, italian/bulgarian joseph kavinsky, kavinsky is his own trigger warning, more tags tba probably, polish skov, russian/chinese jiang, ukranian prokopenko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:22:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpdcerberus/pseuds/bpdcerberus
Summary: “If they’ve chosen you, you’re already theirs,” He whispered. “Kavinsky’s a vicious fucking dog.”Maksym scoffed. “I can handle dogs.”Tad shook his head. “Not this one.”





	he is the growl, i am the bite

**Author's Note:**

> _The devil, he's at my door_   
>  _and I know what he came here for_

A large mutt eyed the piece of meat in the boy’s outstretched hand. The boy shifted slightly closer, watching the stray with expectant eyes. The dog's eyes flicked from the boy's face to his hand and back. Hesitantly, it stepped forward a step, reached slowly out, and quickly took the food, bolting as soon as it had a grip. It ran to the other end of the parking lot, stopped, and looked back at the boy. It watched the human as it ate, and watched as the boy pulled out another piece.

 

Slowly, they repeated the process. It was quicker than last time, but the dog still ran to a safe distance.

 

The third time a piece of meat was brought out, the dog immediately came over. It ate the food from the boy’s hand and looked at the bag expectantly, its tail wagging slowly as a fourth piece was produced.

 

It was offered, and consumed.

 

The boy then produced a collar from the bag, attached to a leash, letting the stray sniff it. Upon determining it wasn’t food, the dog looked back at the boy’s face, trustfully looking at him as he secured it around its neck. The boy stood, slowly, as did the dog.

 

They began to walk like it had always been this way.

 

Boy and dog. Dog and boy.

 

The jingling tags on the collar of the dog read: _Diablo._

 

 

* * *

 

 

The engine of the Mitsubishi roared under Kavinsky’s feet, sending vibrations up his legs like an electric sort of energy. Swan was in the passenger seat, earbuds in his ears and his eyes closed. Jiang and Skov sat in the back, Skov’s legs draped over Jiang’s like he was a living ottoman.

 

Kavinsky scanned the empty road. He was already doing seventy-five in a fifty zone,but he kicked the speedometer up to eighty. With his lead foot, it climbed further up to eighty five.

 

Swan put his hand over Kavinsky’s on the gearshift, his eyes open now and looking intensely at the speedometer. K flashed a dangerous looking glare at the other boy, flinging his hand away and looking back at the road. Sometimes, when Swan silently told K to slow down, he did. On nights when Kavinsky’s blood was boiling and his skin was burning, he just snarled at the taller boy with all the heat of the fire in his heart.

 

Swan took out his left earbud, surprised to find no music blaring from Kavinsky’s speakers. He looked back at their companions to find them asleep.

 

“Kavinsky.”

 

K said nothing, his eyes trained forward on the speeding, fleeting surroundings.

 

“ _Kavinsky._ ” Swan tried again, sounding more angry this time. K spared him a sidelong glance, face unchanging in the _light-dark-dark-light-dark-dark_ of the speeding car passing the far-apart streetlights. It didn’t last more than a moment.

 

“K.”

 

The speedometer dropped to eighty.

 

“What’s your deal?” Swan asked unnecessarily. Kavinsky often got angry for no reason, like a bonfire with no firepit.

 

“Fuck you.” His voice was a hiss, sounding like he should be a coiled snake ready to strike. Kavinsky looked like he would be venomous, but Swan had been bitten before. The shorter teen was far from venomous.

 

Swan raised his eyebrows skeptically, not believing that Kavinsky’s anger was really directed at him.

 

“If I let you, will you stop _moping_?” Swan said, only half-joking.

 

K snarled at Swan again, teeth bared. He amended his previous metaphor. Kavinsky was not a snake. He was a wild dog with teeth that were sharp enough to hurt but not powerful enough to do damage.

 

Kavinsky looked back at the road, not looking at Swan as he replied.

 

“I hope you choke.”

 

Swan rolled his eyes. Anger burned lightly in his chest, not as intense as Kavinsky’s, but bright enough to singe his words a little.

 

“Fine, I don’t know why I even bother.” Swan started to put his earbud back in his ear.

 

The car slammed up to ninety-five, the engine screaming in protest and making the whole car vibrate. Kavinsky’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, and his face was screwed up into a furious look, his thick eyebrows low over his dark eyes.

 

“K!” Swan half-shouted, which made Kavinsky slam the brakes, swinging the car halfway around. It remained upright, but the smell of smoke and burnt rubber filled the car nearly immediately.

 

“The fuck do you want from me?!” Kavinsky screamed at Swan, looking more like a wild dog than ever. Skov and Jiang were awake, now, looking wildly around and between Swan and Kavinsky.

 

“I want you to calm the fuck down, that’s what I want.” Swan murmured, voice significantly quieter than Kavinsky’s.

 

Kavinsky’s voice was full of acid. “Fuck you.” He hissed again, voice low.

 

“Is that all you know how to say?” Swan sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes like a tired old man. K just looked at Swan, face still furious. Swan looked tiredly back at him, sighing and looking out the window for a little. After a moment of complete silence - painfully aware K was still watching him - Swan looked back at K. In his mind, he bandaged a fresh dog bite.

 

“You need to leash your temper, K.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Henrietta, Virginia, was a rather desolate town. Maksym Prokopenko stood with his hands in his pockets, standing in front of the gates of his new school.

 

“Aglionby Academy,” He tested the words in his mouth, still not quite used to the sounds of English.

 

He had been raised in Ukraine, spoken Ukrainian all his life, and had always been surrounded with people who spoke Ukrainian. His parents told him, halfway through 7th grade, that he would be going to America for high school. So, in preparation, Maksym started learning English.

 

Everyone knew basic English in Ukraine, like how to ask the time or where the bathroom was, but he knew that he would need more than those few phrases to go to a school. Now, he was relatively fluent. Maksym was able to hold a conversation as well as any American (as they didn’t seem to even be fluent in their own native language) but he strived for greater fluency. He would still have a translator with him for his lessons in case he couldn’t understand what people were trying to say.

 

Maksym adjusted the straps of his backpack, walking through the gates and up the sidewalk. He looked around the schoolyard, which was giant. Most of it was grass and sidewalks and it was very well kempt. He was mildly impressed, though he had attended expensive private schools his whole life and it was nothing new to him. It was more the excitement of being in a new country that stuck with him.

 

His father’s previous scoldings reminded Maksym of his posture. He pulled his shoulders back, holding himself higher and doing his best to square his shoulders. _‘Like a soldier,’_ His father would say. _‘Act like you are representing your country. You will be, in America.’_

 

Maksym retrieved his schedule from his pocket, looking for the room number.

 

“Hi there!” a voice called from somewhere behind Maks, sounding happy and very very American.

 

Maksym turned, looking at who had called to him. His hair was a sort of caramel color, and his skin was a pale tan and lightly splattered with freckles across the bridge of his nose. He looked very much like a stereotypical rich, American teenage boy.

 

“Hello,” Maks returned, forcing a smile onto his lips.

 

“You’re the new transfer student, right?” The boy greeted. “..Ukraine, was it?”

 

Maks internally rolled his eyes. “That’s the country I’m from, yes. I’m Prokopenko, Maksym Prokopenko.” He extended a hand to the boy, who shook it.

 

“Of course.” He took Maks’ hand, shaking it. “I’m Carruthers, Tad Carruthers. The Second.”

 

Maksym was slightly baffled that anyone would name their son _‘Tad’_ , much less twice, even less twice in a row.

 

 _‘Americans,’_ Maks thought scornfully, only half joking.

 

“Nice to meet you,” He said aloud, keeping his face smiling.

 

Tad reached a hand out for the paper in Maksym’s hand. “Need some help finding your classes?” Maks didn’t, but he let the boy take the paper, anyway.

 

“See, the hallways here are a bit confusing because of how old the buildings are,” Tad began to ramble. “In the Peterson hall, the numbers go from 300 to 359, but it’s only the odd numbers. 301, 303, 305, etcetera,” (This was the point when Maksym nodded as if he was interested,) “And in the main building the numbers go from 400 to 600, and the left half of the building is even, the right is odd.”

 

Maksym saw the Peterson hall - a smaller, labelled building to their right - and the main building, but pointed to a smaller building in the distance.

 

“That building,” He said. “What is that one?”

 

“That,” Tad continued happily, “Is the building that the Foreign Language classes are in. Since you’re an ESL student, I don’t think you’ll have a class in there this year-” Tad broke off, looking at Maksym’s schedule. “I’m mistaken,” The boy amended. “You have Latin for fourth period.”

 

“I’ve been blessed with a very high IQ.” Maksym told him, simply, taking his schedule back and ensuring he pushed as much fiery ice into his gaze as possible.

 

“I see,” Tad said, hesitance in his voice. “I apologize if it seemed I was trying to imply otherwise.”

 

Maksym nodded, still smiling frostily.

 

“Is there anything else you need help with, or any questions you have?” Tad asked, steering the conversation forwards.

 

Maksym considered this a moment. “Is there anything to do in this town? It looks quite desolate. I don’t want to be bored my whole four years.”

 

“Don’t worry,”

 

Maksym turned, startled upon hearing a new voice.

 

A shorter Asian boy with a small tattoo peeking above his unbuttoned collar was approaching them from behind, walking towards the main building. He was looking at Maksym, gaze heavy.

 

“You won’t be bored at all.” The boy patted Maksym’s back as he passed, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing on his way.

 

As Maks looked back at Tad, the boy was still watching the stranger walk away with worry in his eyes.

 

“Who was that?” Maks asked.

 

Tad swallowed. “Yakiv Jiang.”

 

“And who is he?”

 

“I think,” The other boy replied, “That you’re going to find that out yourself.”

 

Tad backed up from Maks a bit. He looked at his wrist like he was checking the time, but there was no watch there.

 

“I have to get to class. I’m sorry, it’s later than I thought.” Tad said anyway, and turned to walk away from Maks.

 

“What?” Maks breathed. “Wait,” He reached out to grab at Tad’s arm, but Tad whipped around, avoiding the grip of his hand.

 

“Don’t,” He snapped, eyes wild with fear. “I can’t talk to you anymore.”

 

Maks laughed scornfully. “Why? He’s not even that scary. Just because he’s touched me doesn’t mean I’m cursed.”

 

Tad looked after Jiang, then back at Maksym. He came back closer.

 

“Look,” He started. “You need to watch out. The crowd that Jiang hangs out with isn’t a good one to get into.” Tad kept his voice low as he spoke, looking Maks directly in his eyes. He still looked scared.

 

“He’s not the one to be scared of, unless you meet Kavinsky. Jiang is his guard dog. Kavinsky is the ringleader. Swan is the second in command. Skov is the jack of all trades, and a backup guard dog.” Tad continued, talking fast and keeping his voice quiet as if someone was listening. Maybe someone was. Maks looked over his shoulder in a jolt of paranoia.

 

Tad took a breath before talking again. “They’re all _really_ god damn dangerous. Try not to get involved with them, but if they’re going to do what I think they’re going to do, you can’t say no.”

 

“What are they going to do? Why can’t I refuse?” Maks asked.

 

Tad looked around now, looking paranoid.

 

“If they’ve chosen you, you’re already theirs,” He whispered. “If you try to escape, they won’t let you go easily. Kavinsky’s a vicious fucking dog, and he doesn’t have mercy.”

 

Maks scoffed. “I can handle dogs.”

 

Tad shook his head. “Not this one.” The American boy backed up, turning to go. Maksym watched him, and didn’t stop him this time.

 

He could handle a dog.

**Author's Note:**

> _the kind of fun that I adore_   
>  _I let him in_   
>  _to make some more_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Baby Boy // Mother Mother_


End file.
